


Seer's Dawn

by CredibilityProblem, pontiffpainticus



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 01:15:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1709642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CredibilityProblem/pseuds/CredibilityProblem, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pontiffpainticus/pseuds/pontiffpainticus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Terezi once stared into a light so bright, it left a mark on her soul.  It was the very last thing she saw, blinding her even in her dreams.  Now she has the opportunity to see it again, guided by one Rose Lalonde.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seer's Dawn

It isn’t really particularly noteworthy, at first.  Long ago, in the early days of interspecies encounters, you established a sort of accord; formally penned in chalk upon the stone gray walls of a dank and musty meteor, inscribed forever and eternally, at least until you needed the space to draw this totally awesome mural of your lusus and it got erased.  You prefer to think that the pact is still respected, however unofficially, stating in simple terminology:   _We’ll ignore your alien shit if you ignore ours_. Trolls and humans always had enough in common to get along fairly well.  You established that with _The Creamsicle Precedent_ , Circa _Some Indeterminate Point In Paradox Time_.    
  
So long as you focused on what you did have in common-- the basics, really, breathing the same air and eating the same food-- you could get them to shut their squeamish little traps whenever, say, you wound up molting and forget to clean up your pile of skins.  Or whenever they mentioned your wiggler scars.  It’s not that you were self-conscious or anything, far from it!  You just couldn’t let them gain any leverage.  Keep them eternally disarmed, half perplexed by your biology and half afraid to even bring it up.

So perhaps it wasn’t particularly worth noting when you started to fall back into a nocturnal sleep schedule.  Every morning, just as you did in your old treehouse hive when you were freshly pupated and completely alone, you’d close every window and curtain until you were wandering through complete and total darkness. You’d sink back into your makeshift little bed.  Still no recuperacoon, but you were used to sleeping on those weird human relaxation loaves after a few sweeps of having no other options.

You still occasionally had the nightmares.  You would wake up in the middle of the day, having squirmed and thrashed and left your bed in a far worse state than when you’d laid down in it in the first place.  A flowery scent would meet you in the total darkness and a warm hand would rest upon yours until your blood pusher decided to calm the hell down and your various glands decided to stop pumping adrenaline through your body, and eventually it all became clear that you were fine, and you were safe, and you would fall asleep again.

Through the morning.  And most of the evening.  You were starting to sleep a lot, awake for a short period of time between night and morning, barely even checking your trollian for updates on the others.  It only occurred to you that you never saw them because they were all asleep during the hours you were awake.

All of them aside from Rose, at least.  Part of you wondered if she just never slept, because the prospect that she was skipping hours of sleep and frolicking in the bright dewey sunlight or whatever it was that humans actually did just to make sure you were alright on the rare occasions that you were met with nightmares in your sleep while simultaneously staying up later and later at night.

“Your house smells like perfume,” you say to her one midday after a particularly violent dream.  “Perfume and burnt cookies.  And dust.”

“The very essence of motherhood, Terezi.  While I suspect you would likely associate the notion more closely with burning various thatched-roof cottages and peasantry folk, that is the odor that hangs strong in the air, long after the clouds of gin have evaporated into figments and memory.”  
  
You wrinkle your nose at her.  You know she does it on purpose.  She’s close enough to Dave in a lot of ways.  He’d be all caught up on human phalluses and obscure references to earth things you don’t understand.  Rose tends to do the exact same thing with a much wider vocabulary.  “That’s another reason human motherhood is gross.  Maybe if she didn’t actually burn the cookies for once, it would smell better.  Or maybe you could actually clean this place to get rid of the stink.”  
  
“I’ll counsel with my dead mother on the matter,” she retorted, a note of bitterness in her voice that you easily detected.  It’s not as though your lusus is any less dead, though you don’t say that.  “If only we could have foresaw having a houseguest with such a sensitive nose.  And smart ass.”  
  
You grin at her.  “That’s how you know,” you state with confidence.  “Every time I have one of these dreams, you’re already here.”

“I haven’t the foggiest notion of what you’re talking about.”  
  
“It’s either that,” you say, “Or you’re watching me while I sleep and sneaking into my room.”  You aren’t sure it’s much of an accusation, considering that it’s her room in the first place.  But she merely shakes her head and squeezes your hand in such a way that makes any other mockery die in your throat.  Her thumb is rubbing the palm of your hand and it feels pleasant, soothing, and even though you’re not tired anymore you still fully intend to keep laying in bed until it’s night time again or you force yourself to fall asleep again.

Eventually, when night falls, you sit up to find a plate of fresh cookies by your bed.  

 

Rose is awake for a particularly long time one night, much later than she’d usually be awake.  During the summer, the sun rises early and sets late, which means you spend most of your time either indoors or asleep, and the only person you’re ever really around is her.  But even beyond that, you’re beginning to spend more time with her.  It’s a slow process, you begin to notice-- one night, she’d be up past midnight with you, which is hardly noteworthy.  Another she’d observe you trying to make an alternian lunch much later in the night, before passing out on the couch when she couldn’t wait up any longer.  Then she eats that meal with you.

“You know, we don’t ever see much of you.”  She comments this night.  The night where she managed to stay up late in the night with you.  It’s nearly twilight, and she’s been sipping a large cup of coffee for hours on end.  She got up to pee four times.  Her eyes are baggy and dark and you feel bad, because you don’t want to send her away, you find that you’d rather have someone to talk to, even if you keep running out of things to say to each other regarding any of the important things you usually argue about.

“I don’t ever see anything of you,” you comment in return.  Your eyes are still covered.  You don’t want to see anything.  Even the bland, odorless grays of Rose’s house hurt to look at.  “And I’m perfectly content that way.  I bet that you smell a lot better than you look, because you smell a bit like death itself.”  
  
“I’ll certainly never tire of your company,” she cooed dramatically.  “If you go on like that, I fear I may faint from the blood rushing to color my soft, womanly cheeks.”  
  
You press the head of your cane to her nose and she bats it away, before continuing to speak.  “And I can tell that you’re deflecting, oh brilliant Seer of Mind.  I did not offer my domicile to you with the intent of enabling hermitism.  This is not to be your hermitage, and I shall allow no hermitry to take place here.”

You bop her on the head with your cane and she yanks it right out of your grasp.  You spend the next few minutes wrestling with each other on the ground, and you can tell that Rose is enjoying herself, even if you have to go easy on her in that near-exhausted state.  “It isn’t a hermitage so much as a lair, Rose.  I’m sure if they really needed me they’d make the long trip through your weird spooky bullshit house to come talk for real.”  

  
  
You aren’t even entirely sure how it happens, but when it does, you’re not particularly surprised.  Rose has rolled on top of you and presses the cane to your neck with a small but doubtlessly triumphant grin.  “Perhaps.  But have you considered the alternative, Terezi?  That even if you were in dire need, you would seek no such counsel yourself?  Because I’ve pored through the possibilities already.  And I can see that you’re about two seconds away from trying to lie to me.”  
  
You shut your mouth after two seconds.  You’re pouting.  No, you insist that you are not, but you already know that Rose can tell, because seers are insufferable, and light players are insufferable, and Rose is a crosspoint between two mighty rivers of bullshit insufferability.  You break her hold easy enough with the knowledge that Rose is both ticklish and exhausted, snatching back your cane as you knock her to the ground.  “And you were using your psycho-bullshit to cheat, Rose!”  You hastily reply, half out-of-breath.  “So that makes us even!”

She rests her hands on her knees as she catches her breath.  “I’m a shameless cheater, Terezi.  I’m afraid I always have been.  But the two of us are playing different games.”  
  
Your cane is deposited back into your strife deck.  You already know where this is going.  You don’t read ahead like Rose does.  Not a god tier, nor do you find yourself playing many games of chess after the game ended.  “It’s late.”  
  
“Early.”  
  
“It doesn’t matter,” you say.  “It’s late, and I’m going to sleep.”  You are already trying to creep away, but you don’t smell her coming up behind you, nor do you anticipate the hand on your shoulder.  You’re ready to snap at her, but you’re restrained, subdued.  You’ve been going easy on her to keep from pushing her away, but she’s been using up every inch you give her, pushing closer and closer to pry away at what you’re trying to hide.

“You don’t have to look at it.  I promise you there shall be no formal arrangement nor any obligation to the matter.”  

“I don’t trust you,” you say, and that ought to be the death knell for any pale relationship.

“I wouldn’t either, I suppose,” which is a painfully alien thing to say after hearing something like that.  She seems to be completely unperturbed.  “I’ve gotten used to the notion.  I suspect you were, as well, at one point.”  
  
“Rose, I don’t think I cared enough about how badly you screwed up to distrust you before.”  
  
“And now you do?  I’m genuinely touched.”  
  
“I know you are!  In the thinkpan!  Won’t you just let me go to sleep already?”  You sigh, exasperated.

One of her hands reaches down towards yours.  “You don’t have to stay awake.  But you won’t be sleeping in my room.”  She tugs at you, and soon enough you realize that you’re following her like a barkbeast.  Something screams at you to rip your hand away, or dig your claws in.  Make her regret this whole ill-conceived endeavor.  Instead, you’re met with the open air of the outdoors, because the thought of breaking that bond is too much for you.  

“I don’t want to do this, Rose.”  You whimper.  You feel pathetic.  Sniveling.  Your grip tightens, and it isn’t to hurt her.  You are tired and afraid and there is a weight bearing down on you.  An old memory of wandering back towards your hive, groping blindly and hoping that none of the enemies or wild animals would find you, helpless and crying.  Of that soft, saccharine world assaulting your sense of sight like a knife in each eye, everything bright and irritating and painful.  The weight of a stupid mistake made because you absolutely hated yourself so much that you destroyed something that all but defined you, only to wind up hating yourself even more...  

“I don’t want to see it.  I want to be like I was.”  It’s almost childish in its sincerity and it sickens you, even as you remain disgusted with yourself for being so weak.    
  
“Terezi, you can go back inside.  But on the condition that you repeat what you said earlier, and absolutely mean it.”  
  
There is a moment of silence.  
  
“Is it true, then?  You don’t trust me?”  
  
You find yourself keeping in a growl as your head tilts upwards.  “I really wish I could afford to hate you,” you moan.  She motions for you to sit down, right in the dirt, and you don’t resist.  

“Hate doesn’t have anything to do with it.  I’ve met the others.  Every one of them has said that watching the sunrise without fear was beautiful.”

“I already know what it’s going to look like.”  
  
“Well, we are seers, Terezi.  There’s no accounting for a few spoilers now and then.”  
  
All around you, you hear birds chirping and wildlife beginning to stir.  You feel a bit of warmth on your skin, soft and pleasant.  Light filters through the trees.  Rose seems to have gone silent, and for a moment you find yourself leaning up against her, close to her and resting your head against her shoulder.

“You’re basically the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” you say outright, because you are already reaching your hand to the back of your head, tugging at the back of your blindfold until the knot comes loose and the red scarf falls on your lap.  You squint, blinking repeatedly, eyes watering.  “It’s fucking bright,”  you mutter weakly.  
  
Rose lets out a pensive ‘mm.’  Her hand’s grip grows a little looser, so you drape her arm around your shoulder instead.  

You aren’t ready to fall asleep yet, but you’re crying, and you’re not sure if it’s some ugly emotions springing to the surface or just your inability to adjust to the light, but it feels warm and pleasant on your skin, and beautiful streaming sunlight speckled through the boughs of the trees and the lush green leaves.  Your body starts to relax, releasing tension you didn’t know you had.

“It’s not that bad,” you eventually say.  When you look up at Rose, you realize that she fell asleep sitting up.  A grin spreads across your face.  “Dork.”  You kiss her cheek, because at least then you know she won’t feel it.

 


End file.
